Of Panthers and Groceries
by DarkScales
Summary: A couple of semi-connected scenes set in a universe where John and Sherlock have been friends from childhood, and John's cousin's adopted son, Joseph, came to live at 221B Baker Street. Cue the chaos that comes from having Sherlock and a teenager living in the same flat. Oh, and Joseph is an escaped Baskerville test subject/werepanther. Misadventures ensue. Completed, for now.
1. Panther

**So, I was going through my old stories earlier and found this. A scene from a larger story that will probably never be written, jotted down quickly on my phone after I fell in love with the awesomeness that is Sherlock BBC. This is my first Sherlock fic, so please let me know if it's any good! Also not Brit-picked, because I'm American and don't know any British people. This was also inspired by Blind Heritage and the Heritage series by chappysmom, who is an amazing author. You should check her out. Enjoy!**

**_IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ FOR BACKGROUND INFORMATION:_ The background behind this is that John and Sherlock were best friends from childhood. Sherlock is a well-known figure in the Watson family, and is often fussed over my John's mother whenever he visits. The same goes for John and the Holmes family. John also has an older cousin named Jerry, who had an adopted son named Joseph. The Watson family seems to have a thing for J names. **

**Joseph, who has known John (calls him Uncle John) and Sherlock (thinks he's cool, because when they first met Sherlock taught him how to build explosives with foodstuff) for years, then moves in with them when Jerry and his wife die in an accident. However, because I apparently love clichés, Joseph has a secret. He told the orphanage when they picked him up that he was a street kid. Only half true, because, dun dun dun... he was actually a test subject from Baskerville. **

**Through the experiments he became a werepanther, able to shift from human to black panther at will. Because I love shapeshifters. So, when he was nine or ten, he managed to escape. Several months later he was adopted, met John and Sherlock, and, at the point of the story, is 16. After losing the first family he had, he's now extremely protective of John and Sherlock, and considers them both as family. None of the Watsons or the Holmes know about his abilities or past, not even Mycroft. He does accompany the two on cases that John deems 'safe enough', but tends to follow them on all the others anyway. However, if they take place during the day, then he's usually at school. For Hounds of Baskerville, let's say that it's summer, so he's on break.**

**In A Study in Pink, he was at a friend's house for the entire time. Then, in the Blind Banker, he did accompany them and got kidnapped along with John. He actually came very close to revealing himself in order to save his uncle, but was stopped by the timely appearance of Sherlock. In the Great Game, he was the kid who got kidnapped by Moriarty when Sherlock had to prove the painting was a fake. Was forced to stay home for the rest of the time, but paced during the entire meeting of John, Sherlock, and Moriarty at the Pool. He seriously considered going, but realized that Moriarty would probably have watchers and then he'd end up hurting more than helping. Accidentally shredded his carpet in panther form, which led to some awkward questions by John when he got home. Also, Sherlock found black hairs in the living room, which he thought was suspicious since they were the exact shade of Joseph's- but not human. **

**For A Scandal in Belgravia, Joseph was on a school trip. School ended literally two days before the Hounds of Baskerville, in which Joseph insists on coming along (even though John wanted him to stay home). He was terrified of going back to Baskerville, knowing what's in there, but decided that if they were hunting the Hound, which he figured was another escaped werecreature, they needed him. Because, obviously, they weren't prepared to what they were dealing with, and he wanted to protect his family. For most of the time he either stayed in the room or explored around town, especially when the two visited Baskerville. On the first expedition to the forest, he followed in panther form, and scared off the Hound when it first appeared. While John and Sherlock are out investigating, the scientists begin to suspect that one of their escaped test subjects may be back. Then, on the second expedition, he follows again... and this is where the story starts.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock BBC, but if I did, the next season would be out already.**

* * *

Sherlock felt a chill run down his spine. He had been wrong. The Hound was very much real... and it was coming straight for them.

The massive creature was huge, a wolflike monster nearly the size of a small pony. Its fur was black as pitch, thick and coarse, with a wide canine snout under dark, blood-red eyes. Henry Knight paled and stumbled back, quibbling in fear.

It prowled toward the group with a predatory gleam in its eye, mouth open to reveal gleaming fangs over three centimeters long. Paws the size of a man's hand were tipped with wicked claws, curved and sharp in the torchlight.

_Bang!_

The Hound stumbled back and yipped slightly as a bullet hit it in what should have been a kill shot, right in the chest. In front of it stood John, gun still pointed at the creature, his eyes wide as it shook off the blow like a minor inconvenience.

"John," Lestrade said slowly as he backed away, "I think you just made it mad."

The Hound recovered its balance and growled, a low, guttural sound that evoked a primal fear in the group of humans. Then, it crouched- and sprang.

However, just before it was about to hit its target, a blur seemed to body-tackle it right out of the air. Its snarl became a yelp as it landed heavily on the ground. Dead leaves flew, and Sherlock swung the torch beam onto where it had landed. What he saw made his eyes widen in shock.

Because facing off, among the brush, was the Hound... and what appeared to be an adolescent black panther.

* * *

I felt a jolt of fear as the Hound crouched. _No! Not my family!_ Running forward, heedless of stealth now, I jumped just as it pounced. Shifting to panther form mid-leap, I body-tackled it out of the way. We landed in a flurry of leaves, and I grunted slightly as we skidded across the dirt. I snarled at it as I rolled to my paws and snarled right back, eyes wild and bright with madness.

The Hound was about half again my size, so it had the advantage of weight and power. But I was faster, smarter, and _not_ insane. If I did this carefully, I could win. Thoughts of keeping my abilities a secret from John and Sherlock had gone out the window. At that point, my only thought was: _Protect my family._

The Hound and I circled each other warily, each looking for weaknesses in each other's defense. It charged first, jaws wide as it aimed to clamp down on my throat. I dodged to the side and swiped out a paw, claws scoring deep furrows across its flank.

"Mrowrrr!" Then I let out a yowl of pain as it turned, faster than I'd anticipated, and clamped its jaws onto my shoulder. I reared and twisted my neck, biting down on its scruff. But its fur was thick and I couldn't get a good grip, so instead I resorted to digging my front claws into the Hound's belly and dragging them down, _hard_.

It let out a strangled bark and released me, backing off slightly. I pressed my advantage and, ignoring the blood that dripped down my leg, sprang forward to sink my teeth onto the Hound's neck. It bucked and twisted, managing to throw me off but not before I took a good chunk of bloodied flesh with me.

Almost at the same time, both of us reared up and grappled with our front paws as we snapped at each other's throats. Moving awkwardly on two paws we swung around in a twisted dance, claws and teeth tearing at flesh. He put his paws on my shoulders and tried to push me down, but I hooked my claws into the juncture between his neck and chest and held on tightly.

We toppled sideways, and I let out a yowl of pain as I landed on my bad shoulder. Then we separated, each breathing heavily. I ignored the twinge in my ribs, even as a little voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like John whispered, _two cracked, maybe broken, will need better medical attention than just first-aid after this_.

Then it snarled and rushed me again, but this time I let it hit. Instead of landing on top of me like it had intended, I rolled with the blow so that my claws ended up digging firmly into its chest as I pinned it to the forest floor. I snarled down at the creature as it barked and snapped its jaws up at me, ignoring how its paws were scratching long gashes into my underbelly.

"Don't _ever_ harm my family again," I growled before biting down and ripping out its jugular. The Hound struggled for a moment, then lay still. I stood over it, panting, as its blood dripped from my jaws. I knew I'd been lucky, very lucky, to have won so easily. It was already hurt from John's bullet, and hadn't been thinking rationally.

As I stood over it, the Hound's form changed- shrinking, losing fur, face flattening and spine straightening until the form of a dead man was under my paws. I stepped off of him and growled. I remembered him. He'd always been a bully, sucking up to the scientists and snitching on anyone who broke the rules- even for the tiniest infraction. I felt no remorse upon his death.

"Oh my God..."

My head whipped around as I heard those hushed words from John. He, along with the other three males, was staring with a sort of slack-jawed horror. I winced. I hadn't meant for them to see me acting so, well, _brutal_.

I turned away and prepared to run back into the woods, intending to make my way back to the hotel hopefully before them. But as I stood a step forward my left front leg suddenly buckled and I lost my balance. _D***. The Hound did more damage than I thought,_ I mentally growled as I hissed slightly in pain.

Twisting my neck around I examined the wound, wincing slightly at the sight of the mangled flesh. Black fur gleamed in the torchlight, glistening wet with blood. I ran my tongue over it a few times, cringing as every nerve screamed like they were on fire.

"The Hound... became a _human_," Sherlock said in a hushed whisper. I jerked my head around and stared at him, surprised at his words. Belatedly, I realized that I should probably have made myself scarce already and took an experimental step forward. The moment I moved, though, two guns swung around and were pointed my way- Lestrade's and John's.

_Oh. D***. Forgot, they think I'm just a hostile wild animal._

Mr. Knight in particular looked terrified, eyes wide and face pale as he started hyperventilating. Fear-scent and panic rolled off of him in thick waves, sharp and unpleasant to the senses.

"Henry, stay calm. Back away, _slowly_," John instructed the younger man quietly.

I eyed the humans warily. Hopefully, if I didn't make any sudden moves, they wouldn't shoot. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me, and if I was in my human form I probably would've laughed at it. Treating humans with the same tactics they used against wild animals. Ha.

However, when I tried to limp away, my paw twisted and I almost fell. I hissed in frustration and pain. Looks like I wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, not on four paws at least. Shifting back to human form was out of the question, so, moving awkwardly on three paws it was.

Part-dragging, part-hopping, and part-limping my way to cover, I had gained a newfound respect for three-legged animals. It was _hard_. And at the rate I was going, I'd be lucky to make it back to town by dawn.

_Oh, great. There'll_ definitely _be questions now,_ I thought to myself. They'd get back before I would for sure, and an adolescent black panther dragging itself across the moor was hardly inconspicuous.

"Aaand there goes my life," I half-growled sardonically to myself. Mr. Knight flinched slightly, and I winced as I realized what that must've sounded like to him. Oops. Probably shouldn't make any more sounds now.

With another few steps I had managed to drag myself out of sight and behind a fallen log, where I promptly collapsed to lick my wounds- both literally and metaphorically.

"Aaagh... D***, how the h*** do I explain this?" I hissed softly as I licked my shoulder. The metallic taste of blood filled my tongue and I spat it out, along with bits of the Hound's fur, in distaste. "Eww, gross. Werewolf tastes awful."

Unfortunately, wounds sustained as a panther transferred over to my human form, so even if I somehow miraculously got back to town first they'd notice my mangled shoulder. John was a doctor, after all, and Sherlock was probably the most observant man on the planet. Not to mention that Lestrade wasn't a Detective Inspector for nothing, even of Sherlock always said he was useless.

"My life is over," I groaned again as I let my head fall with a thump to the ground. Stretched out behind the log, I looked up at what few little patches of stars were visible through the trees. They were very beautiful, I noted blandly. So much clearer than in the city. I had missed that about the countryside.

Another faint groaning sound escaped my throat as I contemplated just staying like that for the rest of the night. I was so tired, my shoulder and just about everything else hurt like h***, and all I wanted was to rest. My eyelids even began to droop closed, until-

"Sherlock! It's over here!"

_Wait... John?_

All of a sudden the former army doctor was right in front of me, a bright beam of light illuminating my prone form. I hissed as it overloaded my delicate senses and closed my eyes, scrambling awkwardly to my paws and shaking my head as if to dislodge the pain.

"John! Get back, it's still dangerous!" Lestrade shouted from a distance. I heard the sounds of branches snapping and leaves crunching as he hurried over, followed by the lighter movements of Sherlock and the stumbling steps of Mr. Knight.

I cracked open my eyelids and flattened my ears, hissing defensively as my tail lashed angrily. Soon enough they adjusted and I took in the forms of the four humans, standing arrayed in a rough semicircle around me.

_Oh, c***. This is just getting worse and worse._

"John, this is madness. Let's just leave it and get back to town," Lestrade said.

My uncle shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "It helped us, and it's hurt. I'm just going to repay the favor. Besides, something tells me that this isn't just any ordinary panther. It's smarter than any animal. H***, I'm pretty sure it even understands what we're saying."

I growled and backed up until my hind legs were pressed up against the log. Now I was battling primal fight-or-flight instincts, which were yelling that since I couldn't flee, I had to fight. The pain wasn't helping at all, making it worse if anything.

John took a step forward, and it took a great deal of self control not to snap at him. _No, you idiot! Stay away!_ I wanted to scream. _I don't want to hurt you!_

"John," Sherlock said with a touch of nervousness, "perhaps you should stay farther back."

I wholeheartedly agreed with him. Yes, stay back. In fact, stay very far back and leave me alone. Just go back to town and let me handle myself.

But then my uncle's Watson stubbornness asserted itself and he ignored his friend, instead walking right up and leaning forward to examine my shoulder. His close proximity triggered something, and before I knew it I had my jaws clamped around his arm. He yelled, jerking back, and I froze right before I broke skin.

My blood ran cold as I realized what I had come far too close to doing. I proceeded to gently ease my mouth away from his arm, taking care not to hurt him. These actions only intensified my strange, un-animalistic qualities to the four humans. Perhaps not the best course of action, but it was better than accidentally hurting John through a lack of self-control.

"Well... that's not normal," Lestrade said as he blinked in confusion.

I contemplated making a run for it, but quickly dismissed the thought. They'd be able to catch up anyway. Plus, with my luck, I'd probably end up doing something embarrassing like tripping and falling on my face or something.

Instead, I settled for hissing angrily and bristling in hoped that they'd get the hint and leave. Then my eyes widened as John's hand reached again for my shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you," he said in a soothing tone. "I'm just gonna take a look at that shoulder, okay?" He crouched down so that we were at the same eye level and smiled. Now he was using the same methods he used on his more timid children at the clinic. "You got pretty beat up there, eh?" He surveyed the wound with an experienced eye. "It really should be disinfected, because we don't know where that creature's jaws have been. But I don't have any disinfectant now, sorry."

I shrank back and wondered when John had suddenly gotten so close. He was less than a foot away now, close enough to reach out and touch me. It was becoming harder to maintain this form, but I couldn't change yet.

"Sorry, but all I have right now is a few bandages. That'll just have to do," John said. I growled slightly. Having to split my concentration between staying panther and listening to him was wreaking havoc on my nerves.

My uncle pulled a roll of bandages out of his pocket, where I knew he always kept a few just in case. He unraveled them slowly, and I began to look around for any escape. He came closer, closer, then-

Footsteps. Voices.

"Check over here!"

"Hey, here's Diggin's body!"

"Definitely claw marks, he's gotta be close by. Keep looking!"

"Sir, pawprints! But it looks like someone else was here too. That detective and his friends, maybe?"

"Maybe. Ready the tranquilizers!"

The words were too faint for the humans to make out, but I heard them loud and clear. A chill ran down my spine. No! It was the Baskerville scientists! I held down a flash of panic. I couldn't go back there. Not to the labs.

The humans looked up and tensed.

"There's more people out there," John muttered. "Sounds like a whole squad."

"Sir! Blood and a trail!"

I tensed, claws unsheathed. They'd be right on top of us in seconds! I couldn't let them find me.

Branches rustled, and a man in black body armor came into view. I hissed angrily at him and bristled as menacingly as I could.

The man ignored the other people around him and raised his tranquilizer gun. Without hesitation he shot me, and I felt the feathered dart penetrate my skin. There was no way to dodge at such a short range, and even as I began to fall I felt myself changing. Fur melted into skin, eyes changed color from gold and green, and paws split into hands. I had become human once again.

_D***._

* * *

_Ow_.

I cracked one eye open and immediately closed it. _Too bright... Wait. Where am I?_

I opened it again and saw white walls on white sheets and a window showing that I was at least three stories up. The sharp scent of anesthetic and medicine told me I was in a hospital. My entire body was sore, and a quick glance at my shoulder told me that it had been bandaged, cleaned, and cared for.

Just then, the door opened and a tall figure topped with a dark head of curls walked in, followed by a shorter man with sandy blond hair. Behind them was an older man with dark grey hair. Sherlock, John, and Lestrade.

_Oh, s***._

I knew they'd seen me transform, and I contemplated feigning sleep before realizing that Sherlock would probably see through it. D***. Bluffing was out too, as was denying it completely and any sort of trickery at all. Sometimes I wished that my uncle and his best friend weren't so smart.

John came over and sat down in a plastic chair next to my bed. Sherlock stood behind him, expression neutral. Lestrade's face wasn't quite as hidden, and I could see a hint of both curiosity and suspicion.

"Hey, Joseph," John said. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got attacked by a werewolf," I responded dryly. No sense in beating around the bush, after all. "In other words, like s***."

"Language, Joseph," my uncle scolded gently.

I ducked my head. "Sorry."

Sherlock snorted. "He's being truthful, John. In a way, he _did_ get attacked by a werewolf. Though," he quirked an eyebrow, and I swear the edges of his lips curved up slightly in amusement. "from what I saw, it was more like _he_ attacked _it_. Defending us, in fact."

I blushed slightly and fidgeted. "Eh... Well, I couldn't exactly let you get mauled. Regardless of your marksmanship abilities, none of you were equipped to deal with a werewolf. Much less _that_ werewolf," I grimaced.

Sherlock leaned forward, eyes glittering intensely. "Oh? And what about that werewolf in particular was different? Also, you implied that there are other werewolves. Where? And what do you have to do with Baskerville?"

I sighed as these questions were asked quickly and with my pseudo-uncle's usual blunt efficiency. "Okay... In that order: Diggin, which was his name, was a particularly large and vicious bully. Yes, there are others, some most likely scattered around the country and others still trapped in Baskerville. Lastly, well... in a way, that's where I was 'born'. It's where I grew up."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "So you _didn't_ grow up as a street kid." For some reason he sounded pleased.

I shook my head. "No. But," I flicked my eyes around the room. "This may not be the best place to have this conversation."

John nodded. "Well, we're going home as soon as you're released, so, then?"

I nodded. "Alright, then. Which should be soon, since I heal abnormally quickly and can leave now. Don't want to stay another minute longer in this d*** place than necessary anyway."

Lestrade let out a bark of laughter.

* * *

Once we got back, we all moved to the sitting room. John sat on his chair. Sherlock sat on his chair. I sat on the couch.

"So," Sherlock said, leaning forward. "Answers. Now."


	2. Groceries

**Wow! I actually didn't expect to get anything for this story, but DYLANFLOWER was kind enough to review! Thanks!**

**This one takes place after the end of summer, at the beginning of the new school year. Now John, Sherlock, and Lestrade (is who is now significantly more comfortable with Joseph tagging along on cases) know his secret, and life has continued on. Well, except for Sherlock randomly grabbing him for experiments, of course. And Baskerville was shut down by Mycroft on the grounds of illegal genetic experimentation. **

**This was inspired by A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47. It's hilarious, you should read it.**

**Anyway, I tried to make this funny, so please let me know if I succeeded or not! And if Sherlock is in character, because** **_dang_ he's hard to write. Also, it's supposed to take place at his school during lunch break, but since I don't live in London, I have no idea how British schools work. And this hasn't been Brit-picked. But, anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock BBC.**

* * *

I grinned. "Yeah, it's cool. Living with him can get a little... strange, at times, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," I chuckled, "beyond the fact that he always forgets the milk, there's a reason John never lets Sherlock do the grocery shopping..."

* * *

_**Several Months Previous**_

It was a few weeks after the Hound of Baskerville case, as John called it, and I was with Sherlock at the grocery store. I held the list and pushed the cart, while Sherlock strode ahead with his long coat billowing out dramatically. Some of the other shoppers gave us funny looks as I followed in his wake, heading towards the meats section.

"Sherlock, just because I'm half panther doesn't mean I can eat meat raw. I'm still capable of getting food poisoning like everyone else," I sighed. "And don't forget the milk."

The tall man nodded and grabbed one off the shelf as he passed it. I sighed again and rolled my eyes. Wrong brand, and wrong percentage. John drank 2%, not 1%. And he hated that brand. I took the right one and placed it in the cart, and put Sherlock's back on the shelf. It was the last one left, and I mentally thanked my lucky stars that we'd been the ones to get it.

"Sherlock, for future reference, the brand does matter. John prefers Berkeley Farms," I said. He raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" he asked. "It's all milk."

I shrugged. "I dunno why, he just does. He even wrote it down on the list. And underlined it twice." A thought, unbidden, rose to my mind: _he drinks the same brand as Jerry did._

"Hm. Interesting," Sherlock muttered.

We came to the meats, and I took what we needed while my uncle's flatmate perused some steaks.

"Got the chicken, got the sliced ham, let's go," I said. Then I turned around. And around. And around. "Sherlock? Sherlock!"

_Oh, great, I lost him._

I quickly spun and pushed the cart through the store, scanning the aisles for the missing detective. Ugh! John had told me _specifically_ to make sure he didn't wander off, and now he was gone! How did a guy that tall just disappear like that?

As I searched, I suddenly realized what I felt like: a teenage babysitter who'd lost his five-year-old charge and was trying to find them before the kid's parents got home. I snorted. The great Consulting Detective, whose maturity level fluctuated between child and adult.

Though, at times, comparing Sherlock to a five-year-old was a remarkably accurate description.

"Sherlock? Sherlock? Excuse me, ma'am, but have you seen my friend? He's a pale man about six feet tall, with a long, high-collared coat and curly brown hair. Kind of grayish, blueish eyes, really high cheekbones?"

The old lady looked at me for a minute, then her eyes lit up with understanding.

"Oh! Yes, I did see him. About two minutes ago, he went towards the checkout," she informed me. My eyes widened.

"The checkout? Why would he go there? Okay, thanks ma'am!" I said as I all but jogged towards that area. As I drew nearer I heard shouting, and I let out a groan. Oh, great. What had he done now?

"-and what's more, your profit margin will go down by 4.29% within the next five years unless you fire the cashier who is stealing money in lane three and the stock boy who's taking oranges in aisle 14. Now, will you take my advice, or not?"

_Aw, Christ._

"Argh... 'Don't let him get into trouble,' you said. 'Make sure he doesn't wander off,' you said. You didn't tell me how he can move like a frikin' _ninja_," I growled under my breath. "For such a tall guy, he moves _fast_."

Behind Sherlock and the manager, who were still arguing over something, a small crowd had gathered to watch. I saw one man filming the whole thing on his phone, and groaned again. Great, my uncle's crazy flatmate was going to become the next viral video YouTube sensation. _Fun_.

Someone who was actually waiting for the checkout, though, seemed to be getting more and more annoyed by the second.

"Hey!" she snapped. "If you two are quite finished, some of us actually need to get our shopping done, alright? So go argue somewhere else or something!"

Sherlock rounded on her like a giant bat, coat flaring out and eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down.

"Well, perhaps if you simply went to another cashier, you would already be done," he snapped, tone frosty.

I left the cart by a shelf of Cheetos and pushed my way through the crowd. "_Okay_, that's enough now. Sherlock, I have what we need, let's just apologize and go. You told John you'd be good, remember?"

The consulting detective looked down at me as I moved between him and the other shopper. Then he turned around and began deducing everything about the manager, whose face began to flush red. I resisted the urge to facepalm.

"Sherlock. Sherlock! Let's go! I left the cart- hey!"

I had turned to look at our cart, but when I did I saw that someone was taking the milk out of it! What the heck were they doing?

"Hey! That's ours! What are you doing?" I yelled as I jogged over. Sherlock followed behind.

The man looked up and clutched the milk protectively. "The shelf is all out!" he cried. "This is the only one that I've seen in the whole store!"

"Yeah, but it's ours!" I shot back. "You can't just take it! My uncle is very specific- he only drinks _that_ percent, of _that_ brand. Nothing else."

"Well so does my wife!" he said.

"But we got it first," I retorted as I reached the cart. I held my hand out. "Come on, just give it back. I did _not_ just endure grocery shopping with Sherlock Holmes only to not get the milk."

The man held it tighter. "If I don't bring back milk, my wife will skin me alive!"

Sherlock, who had apparently felt that this was getting ridiculous (to be honest, I was beginning to wonder what I was even doing at this point) leaned down and easily plucked the carton out of the shorter man's hands.

"Well, my flatmate gets extremely grumpy without his tea," he said coldly. "So if you'll excuse us, we'll be leaving now- _with_ our milk."

"No!"

The man grabbed for it, and I barely had the presence of mind to duck and cover before the cardboard carton exploded. The strain of two grown men pulling at it had taken its toll, and milk went flying.

_Oh, Jesus Christ,_ I thought. _This is definitely a Bit Not Good._

I peeked over the edge of the shelf I'd been hidden behind, and almost laughed at the sight of _Sherlock Holmes_ covered in milk. It ran in rivulets down his face and dripped off his nose, and there was a large splash mark on the front of his coat.

His hands and arms in particular were soaked, while everything in the cart itself was drenched white. The floor had little puddles of it, and the other man was no less affected.

"Argh," I groaned for what seemed like the millionth time. "Great. Now what?" I turned and saw the guy with his phone out, who was still filming the whole thing. "And turn that thing off!" I snapped. Inside, I wondered, _Could this possibly get any worse?_

Then I heard the sirens.

* * *

"Wait, wait. So, what, you guys got arrested?" my friend asked. I laughed.

"No, we didn't. Turns out that every time a situation involving Sherlock comes up, the Yard calls DI Lestrade to handle it. So, he shows up at our local Tesco's, and he's really mad. But then he walks in, sees Sherlock covered in milk, and just starts laughing," I told them as I chuckled at the memory. "Then he finds out what happened and calls John, who had to come pick us up. Since he was actually hanging out with his friends at the time, he was mad too, but then he comes over, sees Sherlock, and just cracks up.

"So, there we are, standing in the checkout area of Tesco's, and we're all laughing at Sherlock. Who looks like a very angry wet cat." By now, we were all laughing hilariously. "After a few minutes of this, we're finally calm enough to leave. And then, once we get home, John says, 'Did you remember to get milk?' and I say, 'Yeah, Sherlock got it- on his face!' and then we both crack up all over again. After that, John _never_ let Sherlock go grocery shopping again."

Ian, a short boy with sandy blond hair, leaned forward. "Seriously? You've got to be kidding us."

I put my hands up in surrender. "No, I swear it's all true. You can look up the video if you want. It actually did go viral, and it's called 'Sherlock Holmes in Tesco's'. But the video's really blurry, so you can't really tell that it's me in the video. Sherlock's pretty distinctive, though, because he's so tall with that big long coat."

"Hah!" Max snorted. "Well, I'm definitely looking that up after school."

We quieted for a moment, and continued eating. Then David held up a thermos and said, "Milk."

I choked on my sandwich, and Ian snorted water out of his nose.

Max snickered. "Hehe, milk."


End file.
